Disconnect
by DustTilDawn
Summary: It has been 10 years since Rin left Hisao in the rain. She's become a world renowned artist living in Tokyo but she hasn't changed. As she stumbles through her artist's block she becomes suffocated in her thoughts. Rated T for suicide


Death watches people even when they are living. When she is early, she will wait for the soul to come to her. It is better to be early than late. If she were late, the soul would simply disappear. Departing souls bore no patience. This was the only truth.

"Can a monster ever stop being a monster...? Is it a monster even if it doesn't want to be one...? Do they have feelings?... What does a monster feel?"

Rin was talking to herself. She did this often when she couldn't paint. Her apartment was dark. The only illumination came from a wall of windows, letting in the starlight outside. She could see the Tokyo skyline outside these windows. A wall of shapes, layered over a backdrop of purple and gold hues. It looked nice, but that's not how Rin would have described it.

"What…am I…What am I looking at?"

She'd been lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. She sat up now, looking around her. She almost wanted to ask where she was, but she knew. She also knew no one would answer her. She was alone. No Emi. No Hisao. Alone.

"When you want to hear someone laugh, how do you show it? Can you laugh with them? How does it feel to laugh with someone? I don't remember anymore."

No one would answer her questions. Rin got up, walking over the many canvases that were sprawled across her apartment. Some of them were little more than pieces of cloth, splattered with paint. Some of them had more of a story and some pieces of an idea. If one were to watch her paintings in sequence, it would look like that of an old man's descent into a dark cave. A little less color. A little less sight.

Mixed in with the drawings were bottles. A mixture of medicine and liquor. Too many to name. Not enough to keep the pictures coming. She didn't know what to paint. There was nothing. She couldn't remember. What did she see? How could she show them?

Designs, shapes, shadows, colors, color, black. Rin's green eyes skimmed them all, her face expressionless. The paintings spoke to her. She could see the pictures move, hear her creations speak, but they all looked the same. They sounded the same.

"It's not enough,"

"You need more."

"Try this next."

"You need to feel something different."

"How much pain can you feel?"

The question needed no answer. She already knew it. None. There was no pain left to feel. The pool for emotion was emptied, everything left to reckless abandon. What could she do with a shell? Could she hide inside it? Waste away? Could something waste away because there was nothing inside?

The phone rang. A jarring sound. It pulled her from the voices and gave her a new one. She knew this voice. It had a name.

"Rin? It's Guertena." Rin didn't answer. Surely, he would know she was listening. Surely, she didn't need to say a word. Surely. Definitely. Probably. Maybe. Possibly not.

"Tezuka, are you there?" This has happened before. It happened a lot. Maybe? Yes. He should know. She was there.

"I am always there."

"You need to answer your phone more. Where are you?"

"Lost."

"What? It doesn't matter. Look. The exhibit is in 3 days and we're behind schedule. How far along are you, darling?"

"The black isn't done yet. There's too much color."

"Oh, darling. I never have any idea what you're trying to say. Just tell me, can you finish your painting before the exhibit? You only have three days left. There's going to be all kinds of famous painters and critics. You need these paintings to sell, but you've always done so well before. Your work has always been a top seller. World class, honey."

He sounded so…unlike Rin. He was very Emi-like when Emi ran. Or Nomiya-like when Nomiya used to look at her. He looked at her with something. Something different. Guertina was most Guertina when Rin painted. Everyone could be everyone. A different color. What color was he? Who was Rin?

"Rin, darling? Are you still there?"

"I am there."

"Okay, sweetie. Remember, three days. You have to hurry, but you've never let me down before. Everything is almost ready. Let me tell you."

The telephone had been made specially for people like her, without arms. The speaker was loud. All she had to do was knock the headset out of the stand to hear, and talk into the phone. It was old-fashioned, but it worked. Rin did not seem to care about either of those descriptions.

Guertena could go on for hours, talking. That was okay. She didn't need to hear to listen. It would be okay.

 _Splat. Whoosh._

It was raining outside. The water, pouring in huge droplets that made her think of rocks. Rin remembered. It rained the last time she had seen him. Hisao. When she had said goodbye. He'd held an umbrella over her head, but she didn't care. She never needed it. It wasn't important.

"I understand how you feel." Rin whispered.

Her manager stopped in his monologue, completely caught off guard by her sudden statement. What did someone expect from someone like her. This wasn't like her. Nothing was. She had nothing. "What did you say, honey?"

"I wanted… to hear someone say. I understand how you feel." Rin repeated, her eyes glazed. What was it to want to pour words out from your mind? To feel it empty, and not worry. How did it feel to not have anything clawing away inside, asking to be free?

"Why would you want that, darling? You're an artist. All artists are meant to be misunderstood." She could hear the curve of his lips. To smile. Did it mean something too?

"Can you understand someone's feelings without feeling like them? Without feeling it too?"

Guertena was silent. He wasn't sure what his little artist wanted him to say. He wasn't even all that sure he understood what **she** was trying to say. She was an enigma like that. She always said things that made little to no sense. But she was a great artist, a marvel. She could paint the most fantastic drawings with just her feet. The paintings may have looked like a mess to him, but the critics just ate it up.

"Who would ever want to feel like that?" Rin understood now. Ten years. It had taken her a long time to understand the end from that beginning. Hisao. Did he know? "What's the word for believing something you shouldn't? Wanting something you know won't happen? Thinking it might?"

She didn't wait for an answer. He would not be able to give her one, even if he could. She hung up, moving the headset onto its stand. The phone did not ring again. She was alone again. As she had always been. As she always was. Alone. She believed she didn't have to be. She thought Hisao would be there. She thought Hisao could've understood her.

He didn't. She left. The end.

"Apologies hurt. They make me feel pain? Why is that? When saying sorry means the other person feels pain for what they have done. Why does it hurt when I'm not the one who should be feeling pain?"

Her feet held a wet paintbrush. It was dipped in neon green paint, glowing brightly in her dim apartment. Now, it was hanging over the canvas of her newest drawing, but there would be no painting tonight. The thick liquid dripped onto the cloth, ruining the field of black. Green.

Rin looked out her window. It spanned the entirety of one wall. It looked like a painting. The glass was thick with the darkness. Black.

She moved past it, walking out onto a balcony. The edge was low. It came up to her thighs. White.

"Try to smile."

"We're all alone."

"I don't understand."

"What do you see?"

Rin climbed onto the ledge, right leg first. She didn't see anything. There was nothing left. The voices were quiet. Finally, she was alone in her thoughts. "I wanted to know."

She jumped.


End file.
